Marley and Me

Has anyone ever written about a dog the way John Grogan did? The pure, unadulterated love of a human for his dog and a dog for his human. I would argue that Garth Stein came close, but just close. No one can touch Marley when it comes to tugging at a dog lover's heartstrings. 

“A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not. As I wrote that farewell column to Marley, I realized it was all right there in front of us, if only we opened our eyes. Sometimes it took a dog with bad breath, worse manners, and pure intentions to help us see.” 

~John Grogan

The monologue at the end of the movie is slightly different, in my opinion just as poignant:

A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water log stick will do just fine. A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?

Marley and Me is a book that I can reread over and over and fall in love every time. 

Every time. 

I can watch the movie over and over and fall in love every time. 

And laugh every time.

And cry every time. 

And wonder every time, "Why can't people love one another so unconditionally?"

There is no greater love...

Memorial Day 2017

How did you celebrate? And is celebrate even the appropriate word? It is a holiday, after all. Doesn't that imply celebration? I would think it would be more appropriate to ask how someone observed the day, but that isn't a phrase you hear often. I don't think celebration is meant disrespectfully (at all), but in light of the day's essence, it seems a strange word.

I have read numerous heartfelt Facebook posts, blog entries, and a few beautiful essays today in honor of the fallen brave. And while I know that this day is in memory of those who made the ultimate sacrifice (and Veteran's Day is the day devoted to ALL service men and women), this morning I made a point to thank two of the servicemen in my life, both still living. And both still deserving of gratitude. Today. Tomorrow. The next day. And Tuesdays, mid October.

I was reminded to thank them because this morning I saw this.

I can't remember who posted it (it was a FB friend), and actually it was a different picture (that I can't find) but with the same quote. And here is the effect it had: 

It made me think about bravery. Ultimate sacrifice and bravery. Appropriate for today in honoring the lost, but it made me think of the living as well. 

Anyone who enlists in the military does so knowing there is a chance they could be sent into combat (an assumption on my part...but I think a logical one). And in doing so, in signing on the dotted line in spite of that knowledge, service men and women show an immense bravery that today I wonder if I could ever muster. It is for that reason that today I felt called to thank the living as well. Because they faced (and still face) that same possible fate, and they accepted the possibility heads high. So I do understand the essence of today, but if you are a veteran or active military reading this, know that today I also thank you (and am reminded that I am in awe of you). 

I would like to think that I could give my life for those I love. Of course I want to believe that. But could I? Could I dig deep inside and stare down mortality and willingly sacrifice myself for others? Again. All I can say is, "I hope so."

For me, today also calls to mind Victoria Soto. She put herself between her students and the Sandy Hook gunman and gave her life for theirs. Bravery. Ultimate bravery. In that split second, she found it in herself. 

I think of the Catholics arrested during the Nazi regime and wonder would I have the courage to stay true to my faith when faced with persecution, true, terrifying persecution. 

I think of the Chernobyl Suicide Squad (who I read about in Mrs. Lindquist's sixth grade ELA class). Here is what I remember about them, what stuck with me after all of these years: They (three of them) dove into a flooded basement to turn a valve that inevitably stopped a second explosion and an even more devastating meltdown. And they did this knowing there was no chance of survival. 

It was estimated they saved millions. Bravery. Ultimate bravery.

Fairly recently, when gathering related articles for a teacher to share with a group of high school freshmen, I came across a book that details many different versions of the suicide sqad's story. Apparently, the truth isn't quite what I remember from sixth grade, but the memory remains as powerful. They apparently didn't die within weeks from the radiation (as I remember), but in keeping with today's theme, I wonder if they went into that basement thinking they could. And probably would. And went anyway. 

Bravery. Ultimate bravery.

I'm sure there are countless examples of these stories of bravery and sacrifice that I could call to mind (or Google) today. And I know that today is meant to honor specifically the bravery and sacrifice of our military.

I do thank them. And I am glad we have a day devoted to honor them. And today, I spent time wondering...

Could I ever muster what they gave so willingly? Could I find the depth of bravery that they each did when they laid their lives on the line for someone else? I hope I never have to know. But could I? 

Dear Mr. Swayze,

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

That's your line. It's iconic. I hope you were proud to leave it as a legacy.

Johnny Castle taught an entire generation of ladies (and maybe gentlemen too) that dirty dancing can be beautiful dancing. He taught us to not judge the book, or the dancer, by the cover, and indeed he taught us to never settle for being put in a corner.

I'm sure you inspired countless injuries (and YouTube videos) as people of all ages have tried to perfect that lift year after year after year. And no one, no one respectably long in the tooth, hears that song without remembering you (not Johnny Castle...you) fondly.

Time of my Life

Dalton taught us that it's important to be nice..."until it's time to not be nice."

Vida taught us that "some men need to be hit back," and even Bodhi taught us the importance of 100% adrenaline.  I may have listened to Bodhi just a little more than I should have. "Little hand says it's time to rock 'n roll!"

One of my favorite quotes, though, came from you, not one of your characters. "How do you nurture a positive attitude when all the statistics say you're a dead man? You go to work." You went on to explain that the work is whatever you love. You keep at it. You play with your kids. You dance with your wife. You shoot a movie if there's one to be shot. You go to the work of life, but no matter what, you don't give up. You don't give in. You never sit down and be done.

And you didn't.

I don't know a character you played I didn't love. You made me love them all. If you have a crap role out there, I hope I never discover it.

You are the reason ditto is on my list of top ten favorite words, and I hope and pray that Sam was right. "It's amazing, Molly. The love inside. You take it with you."

Prince, Rocky Balboa, and Willie Nelson

I had very personal moments inspired by each of these three men today. All for very different reasons. Yes, I know Rocky Balboa isn't a real man, but he still makes the list. As much as I love me some Sylvester Stallone, I would never sit through a Rambo marathon. Never. It is Rocky Balboa who mesmerizes me.

I'm a pretty big fan of all three: Prince (God rest his talented soul), Rocky Balboa (the ultimate comeback kid), and Willie Nelson (come on...how can you not love Willie?). 

Today, I've had reflective moments where the words of each of these men stuck with me. And maybe even changed me. Because I think that's what reflection does. It changes us, one tiny piece at a time. 

On my way to work I was almost brought to tears listening to the first verse of Let's Go Crazy. Well, if I'm going to admit getting all emotional listening to a Prince song, at least it wasn't Pussy Control. 

Go ahead. Click on the link below and listen to the introduction. Alright, listen to the whole song. You know you want to. 

Let's Go Crazy 

Do you get it? Do you see why listening to this artist talk his way into a song I've heard hundreds, if not thousands, of times got me all up in my feels? No? Me either. But it did. I was contemplating life and my purpose and my beliefs about the afterlife. Yes! Seriously! All because Prince said life means forever, "and that's a mighty long time." 

*Side note: If you let the YouTube video continue into the next, you'll get to enjoy Purple Rain as well (man, I love that song...and that movie). 

And then after work, tired from an extra long day, I turned to an old friend, my go-to when I need mindless television I love: Rocky Balboa. I love them all. I can easily make a Rocky marathon out of any Saturday or Sunday, but my favorite (no question) is Rocky Balboa, the sixth in the movie saga. 

I've seen this movie at least dozens of times (at least!). I can quote large portions of it, but tonight two lines hit me (both during a conversation with his son...during which I think the son is a putz). What wisdom did my favorite fighter impart?

"You think you oughtta stop trying things because you've had a few too many birthdays? I do not." 

and

"I stopped thinking like other people think a long time ago. You gotta think like you think." 

And again...life...purpose...big thoughts.

Enter Willie...

Tonight, I begin chapter 19 of Willie's autobiography It's a Long Story, but when I reached over and picked the book up, my thumb slipped just inside the cover, causing the book to open to the introduction (which I read last week). Nothing on the page was highlighted (I'm a chronic highlighter), but for whatever reason my eyes were drawn immediately to this line: 

"My prayer is that the memories, whether joyful or painful, refresh my spirit, and yours, by assuring us that the stream never runs dry." 

Isn't that why we write? 

Life. Purpose. Big thoughts. 

I highlighted the sentence, by the way. And then I wrote the introduction to Let's Go Crazy on a Post-It and stuck it on that page. Some day, I'm going to flip through this book looking for highlights (because that's a thing I randomly do), and I'm going to wonder why that note is there. I bet it will inspire musings of life...purpose...big thoughts. Or not. You never know. 

Good night, Prince. Good night, Rocky. Good night, Willie. 

Tonight I drift off a better person because of you three. And for that, I thank you.  

When Words Won't Come

We all know that writing is hard. In fact, I wrote an entire entry here about that fact once. It was hard. Hehe...see what I did there?

Today is one of those days. The words just don't want to be found. Hell, the topic doesn't even want to be found. But a friend and I promised to blog every week. And well...if she can do it, so can I.

So today...I borrow words. It was always one of my favorite classroom stations. "Found" poetry the smart people who came up with it call it. Over the years, I've had students borrow words in a number of ways from a number of sources for a number of different products. Today, I do the borrowing.

The poem below (and I'm using the term poem loosely here) consists entirely of the titles of books that can be found laying around my house at this very moment.

________________________________________

Bird by Bird
by Kristi Piper (and many other authors to whom I am grateful)

I is an other
Same kind of different as me
When women were birds
Uniquely human
Aging with grace

Passing it on
Reflections
My own words
For one more day
Journey to the heart

Made to crave
A song flung up to Heaven
Pieces 2 peace
Facing your giants
Brain on fire

Gather together in my name
Crossing the threshold of hope
Deeply loved
A hundred and one days
Grace for the moment

It's a long story
A long way gone

Bittersweet
__________________________________________

Well, there you have it. A complete blog entry (five hours ahead of my deadline), and a beautifully crafted poem (packed with meaning and nuance) that any poetry professor worth his or her salt would give at least a solid D-.

Obsessed With Being Obsessed

I am obsessed with being obsessed. It's true. I was diagnosed by an 11 year old on the television show Hoarders. He was describing his mother's addictive personality (not a phrase he knew), and I heard him say, "She would never be able to just take up jogging. She would have to train for a marathon."

Boom.

Wow.

Drop the mic., kid.

You nailed it.

I went to grad school...and didn't stop until I had a doctorate. I decided to lose weight...and had lap band surgery. I took up jogging...and trained for a marathon.

I get bored if I don't have an obsession.

I recently found a new obsession, one I am particularly excited about. There is no degree or finish line attached, but if I make it to wherever it might lead me, I think it might end up being the journey of which I will be the most proud.

I want to transform my body. Like really transform it. Like as in bodybuilding. But not in a real bodybuilding way (because I am a giant pansy). But body transformation.

I have dabbled with trends in the world of fitness since shortly after my lap band surgery in November of 2010. I've gone to bootcamps. I've taken a few kickboxing classes here and there. I've eaten Paleo (even went to a Paleo conference once) and completed a Whole30 (and attempted four more). I've jogged. And quit jogging. And jogged again. My point is...I've dabbled. Other than training for the Houston Marathon, I've never really stuck with anything consistently.

I met with a trainer recently to pitch the idea to her, the idea of transforming my body. I knew the exact trainer I needed (there was no doubt in my mind), and she was totally on board. And she asked me, "But how do I get you to show up?" I had attempted to work with her before and had flaked after an embarrassingly few sessions.

My answer? You don't. I do. I think I'm ready. Because I need something to be obsessed with.

It's that simple. I am currently obsessed with exploring how far I can push my body and watching what it does in response.

How's it going? Well, I'm still a giant pansy. But I'm showing up. And I'm loving it. And just the other day I thought I saw a muscle. And then I realized it was probably a streak on the mirror.

Some obsessions come to fruition slower than others.

A Little UFC Wisdom

I have a confession to make. I am a highlighter. A hopeless lover of highlighting. I have a highlighter on the table by my bed. A highlighter in my purse (OK, there are two). Multiple highlighters in my work bag. And an overly stuffed pencil pouch full of them in my office supply box. 

I love to highlight sentences and phrases that stand out to me when I read. If a line makes me think or makes me appreciate its wording or its wisdom, I highlight it. I very rarely (if ever) make notes. I don't jot down why I highlighted the statement. I simply highlight it and continue reading. 

Occasionally, I pick up an old book and thumb through it, reading only the highlighted passages. I like to see what stood out to me when I read the book and reflect on what I might have been thinking. I used to have a hard time letting go of books, so I was surrounded by a large supply of highlighted food-for-thought. Now that I no longer have a home office/library, I am limited on book space, but I make room and keep what I can. And yes...I still highlight. 

I often wonder (now that I have had to come to terms with letting books go...to what I hope are good homes) what the new reader thinks when they come across my highlighting. Does he or she wonder about the significance of the line? Does he or she get annoyed that I defaced a beloved book (much as I do when I see the mark of a past dogear)?

I am currently reading and rereading Maya Angelou's memoirs. I love her use of words (can't highlight her enough), and I wanted to experience her work in the order in which she wrote them. Aerosol highlight ink might be more efficient for marking her work. I understand that at some point highlighting becomes meaningless if it is overdone, but when I flip back through her work, some pages look more like coloring books than text. She was an artist in her use of words. 

I hope that when I write (currently working on a "book" about my Mema) someone will find my words highlight worthy. I know that it is possible to highlight e-books, but I don't find myself using that tool. And I've certainly never gone back through an electronic text to reread what I highlighted. I guess it's just not the same. But despite the leap to a new world where maybe you leave your highlighter behind (notice I said you...I'm still clinging to mine), there is still a feel of being highlighter worthy. 

Isn't that what a writer wants? To say something that is highlighter worthy.

Now...This highlighter rant was meant to be only my first paragraph to lead into my true topic. I intended to write about a line I heard from a UFC commentator. A line that made me stop and think, "If that were written down, I would highlight it." 

I considered going back and revising my title once my writing took on a direction of its own choosing, but instead, I will make this simple connection and leave the title...maybe as a teaser for next week's post and maybe as a reminder to myself to write about that line.